


Like Gravity

by ladymac111



Series: The Only One in the World [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Blogging, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femlock, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Genderswap, John Watson's Blog, Oral Sex, Post Reichenbach, Post-Hiatus, it's the solar system!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back, it seems like my whole life was leading up to this moment.</p><p>That's a silly way to start a story, of course, but it's poetic, and I'm not sure it's all that hyperbolic.  Let me explain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blog Post

**Author's Note:**

> More of Female!Sherlock and John, set after her return after the Fall. Chapter 3 is Explicit.

Looking back, it seems like my whole life was leading up to this moment.

That's a silly way to start a story, of course, but it's poetic, and I'm not sure it's all that hyperbolic. Let me explain.

When I met you, I had no idea what I was getting into, but I knew from that first awkward introduction that my life wouldn't be the same with you in it. _Afghanistan or Iraq?_ No one had caught me off-guard like that in a long time. And as much as it was awkward and a little frightening, it was exciting, it was fascinating. It was addicting.

What I didn't know – didn't realize – at the time was that as we spent time together you were replacing pieces of me that had gotten lost, and somehow even finding ones that I didn't have to begin with. Your third text to me:

_Could be dangerous. SH_

Did you know that was what it would take to get me to come, or was that another lucky shot in the dark? Did you know how much I was already drawn to you? Even before the danger aspect became apparent, I was drawn to you. Yes, some of it was physical. How could it not be? First impressions are powerful things, and you know how you look in that outfit, the way the skirt hugs your hips in just the right way and makes your legs go on for days, even though it hits you so modestly at the knee.

It makes me want to drop to my knees in front of you. Maybe someday I will. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I know it's not a secret that I fell in love with you rather quickly, as much as I tried to resist it. I'm glad you did, though. I'm glad you didn't let me lead you into a romance, not then. I'm glad you encouraged me to go on dates with other women and then absolutely destroyed my clumsy attempts at relationships. It made me love you more, even as I hated you for it. You inspire that in a lot of people, you know, that frustrating combination of love and hate. I count myself lucky that my love for you is stronger than all the negative emotions.

So for a year and a half, I loved you as quietly as I could. Of course, with the blog, it wasn't that quiet. But it was quiet enough for you, I suppose. I was your blogger, your faithful right-hand man through all the cases, your better-than-a-skull, your conductor of light. I know you appreciated me, in your way. You liked the way things were, and when I pushed, testing your boundaries, you pushed back, keeping us in the roles we carved for ourselves, detective and assistant, flatmates, friends, best friends even – but nothing more. You said you didn't want that, and I had to respect you, even though I ached for you. Even though everyone else thought we were more. Because I loved you – I love you – and that was much more important. In some ways, what we had _was_ more, just not in the way people expected. We were weirdly intimate in a lot of ways.

The day you fell was the worst day of my life. You know that, of course. You haven't said so, but I imagine you knew that going in, as well. I felt like I had died that day. I've been to war, I've been shot, and nothing was as bad as watching you ...

It was months before I could bear to even be within a mile of Bart's. And I'm not sure how I managed to stay in Baker Street, when you were gone. Probably Mrs Hudson was a part of it. Probably your brother was a part of it too, I don't know. Honestly I don't remember very much, except for the crushing weight in my chest, my desperate wish that I would wake up and find it had all been a dream, that you weren't really gone, that I would come downstairs in the morning and find you plucking your violin at the window or peering into a microscope. I'm not certain when it was that I moved into the bedroom that was yours. I just found myself there one afternoon, and all of your things were gone, replaced with mine. I cried, but I didn't leave.

I would have given anything to get you back, Sherlock. But you know that. And you came.

You don't need me to recount your return; you were there.

I suppose it's human nature to want to find the good aspects of bad events, the silver lining. And your “death” had one more than the one you intended. Yes, you beat Moriarty's web. That alone is impressive, and would have made it worth it.

I know this makes you uncomfortable, but I'm going to say it anyway. Losing you crystallized your importance to me, and I told myself – more times than I care to recall – that if I got a second chance, I would do things differently. I would make sure you knew, you _really knew_ , what you were to me, how much I couldn't live without you.

I never expected to get a second chance. But if anyone could give it to me, it was you. And it was you.

It was always you, Sherlock.

Which is where we find ourselves now. You've been back for an entire week, an entire wonderful magical _bloody miraculous_ week in which you are not a ghost, not a corpse, not a memory, but a living breathing thinking woman who somehow escaped death, accomplished the impossible, and came back to me. I can't let you go again. I won't.

I'm drawn to you, like gravity. Like you're the sun and I'm a poor little planet, stuck in orbit around you, tidally locked, even, so my face is always bathed in your brilliance. Do you even understand that metaphor? Have you made space in your hard drive for the solar system? It might surprise you to find how much I know about astronomy, but that's a topic for another time.

You see, the thing with the Sun's gravitational pull is that it isn't a one-way thing. Newton's Laws: every force has an equal and opposite force. As much as you pull on me, I pull on you in return. I've known you long enough (intimately enough) to know that this isn't wishful thinking on my part. Since you've come back you haven't bothered to hide your emotions when we're together and it makes my heart sing.

We need to be more, Sherlock. We are more, even if we haven't acted on it yet. You and I transcend flatmates/colleagues/friends. We are two halves of the same whole. I know you can see it as clearly as I can. I also know that you're afraid, but we don't have time for fear.

I'm not publishing this blog post, but I know you'll find it. You can't stay out of my personal (I won't bother saying “private”) things, which speaks volumes about the actual nature of our relationship.

Come find me. Tell me I'm not wrong.

I'm ready. I hope you are, too.

JHW


	2. The Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes words aren't the best medium of expression.

There was a knock at the door to John's room. (He persisted in thinking of it as his, though it had been Sherlock's before.) He lowered the novel to his chest. “Yes?”

Sherlock pushed the door open and shuffled in awkwardly. She had changed her clothes, he noticed, put on her pyjamas and dressing gown, and her feet were bare and pale against the floor. “I found your letter.”

“My not-a-blog-post, you mean?”

“Call it what you want.” She smirked. “Admittedly I don't read the same sort of novels as you, but I don't think I've ever seen someone take so many words to say something so simple.”

He made room for her as she perched on the side of the bed. “So how would you say it more succinctly, then?”

“Really, John, you know this sort of thing isn't my area. You're the one of us who romanticizes things.”

He sat up then, and she flinched a little, but didn't move away.

“Sometimes words aren't the best medium of expression,” he said, leaning towards her.

She swallowed. “Really.”

“Mhmm.” He nodded, and wet his lips. “May I kiss you?”

Her eyes widened and she took a couple of quick breaths, but then nodded with a whispered “Yes.”

John brought his left hand to cup her cheek, and carefully drew their faces together. Her quicksilver eyes closed, dark lashes on milky skin, and he pressed his lips to hers.

She was exactly as warm and soft as he had imagined, and he could smell her shampoo and that she had washed these pyjamas earlier in the day. He moved his lips slightly against hers, and she moved too, returning his kiss. She tasted like tea and chocolate. Her hand slid up his right arm and rested on his shoulder as he gently pulled back.

Her eyes remained shut for a few long seconds as he watched her, and when they opened, her pupils were dilated. “Good?” he asked softly.

“Very good.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him again, harder this time, demanding. Mouths opened, tongues slid against each other, teeth and lips and breath came together fiercely and John kissed her as if his life depended on it.

That thought made him chuckle, and Sherlock pulled back abruptly. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he grinned, giddy with endorphins. “Just … it's you!”

Her brow furrowed. “What's me?”

“This!” He held her firmly around her trim waist. “You, here. Kissing me! It's almost unbelievable. I can't believe I ever lived without this.”

She leaned in the few inches that separated them, and kissed him again, briefly. “It is rather enjoyable.”

“Were you afraid, before? That it wouldn't be?”

“I thought I wouldn't like it.” She set her forehead against his, so they were still face-to-face, but couldn't actually look at each other. “I never liked it before. I found it distasteful.”

“What's changed?”

“Everything.” She pressed her mouth to his. “It's you now.” Another kiss. “For some reason, that makes all the difference.”

They kissed gently for a little while before John spoke. “Did you dream about this like I did?”

“I thought about it, yes. While I was … away. I was surprised by how much I missed you, and by the things I wanted to do when I saw you again.” She tightened her grip. “I dreamed, too. Of you. Of … being with you.”

Her voice was breathy, and John felt his heart rate pick up. “Sherlock, I ...” He didn't know how to finish, so he kissed her again, and let his hands push the dressing gown off her shoulders.

“Wait, stop.” She put her hand on his chest, and he froze. “I can't. Not now. Not yet.”

John pulled away, red-faced. “Sorry.”

She stood up and tugged at her dressing gown awkwardly. “No, John. I should be the one who's sorry. I just … it's a lot, all at once.” She smiled hesitantly at him, and he felt a little better. “You know you're the first person I've kissed in more than fifteen years?”

“Fifteen years? Wow.”

“What about you?”

John cast back into his memory. “Well … I did have a date, a few months ago. Mary was her name. She was nice; I kissed her good night. But we never did have a second date.”

“Did she … was she any good?”

John studied Sherlock, trying to figure out what she was getting at. “She wasn't you. That's part of the reason there wasn't a second date.”

Sherlock looked at him for a long moment, her gaze soft. Finally she stepped over and kissed him on the forehead, and then, after a pause, on the lips. “Good night, John.”

“Good night.”

She shut the door, and he heard her soft footsteps ascend the stairs to her (his?) room. He leaned back into his pillows and adjusted his half-hard cock with a groan. It had been a great conversation, to be sure, and the kissing was _brilliant_ … but it hadn't ended quite the way he wanted.

There would be a next time, of course. He smiled as he turned out the light.


	3. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She nodded and licked her lips. “I'm sure, John.”

It was a week after their first kiss that John woke with a start to cold fingers on his belly. He managed to suppress his defensive reflex and avoided pinning Sherlock to the mattress.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “It's cold.”

“What are you doing?”

“Warming up.”

“No, I mean ...” He rolled over, trying to tamp down his exasperation. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Her eyes were bright in the darkness. “Like I said, warming up.”

“Cheeky.” He leaned in and kissed her, and she responded eagerly. Before long they were both gasping, and Sherlock's hands, now warm, were tugging at John's shirt.

“Hold on, hold on.” He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. “Are you sure about this?”

She nodded and licked her lips. “I'm sure, John.”

He moved his hand gently up from her hip to her breast, and she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of pleasure as she arched into his touch. John's blood heated even more at the sight, and let his body respond to hers. Their mouths came together again, hot and demanding. He trailed kisses across her jaw and down her neck, pushing the strap off her shoulder as he licked his way down her clavicle. He had to pull back briefly as she stripped off her top, and then resumed his attention to her breasts for a minute before moving lower. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed down her belly and tugged her pyjama bottoms off to the sound of her gasping. He was unsurprised to find her pubic hair as meticulously groomed as the rest of her body, and pressed hot kisses to the insides of her thighs as she spread her legs to accept him.

“Oh god, John ...”

He licked the crease at the top of her leg, and she shuddered. “Has no one done this for you before?” he murmured.

“No, never.”

John pressed his tongue gently but firmly into her labia and trailed it up towards her clitoris. The scent of her was intoxicating; he was drowning in it and he never wanted to stop. He let his voice vibrate against her as he spoke. “You taste unbelievable.” She moaned and pressed into his face. “I could do this for you every single day.” Her grip on his hair tightened.

John had always been honest with himself about his enthusiasm for giving oral sex, and he prided himself on his abilities. Somehow, though, it was different with Sherlock, it was so much better than it had ever been before. He felt like he couldn't keep his mouth off her, and every cry he wrung from her went directly to his cock by way of his soul. Maybe it was because he knew he was the only man – the only _person_ – ever to do this for her. More likely, though, it was because she was _his Sherlock_ and she was coming undone under his attentions, and stealing her control was an enormous rush and an even bigger ego boost.

It couldn't go on forever, though, and finally she grabbed his face and dragged him up her body and kissed him firmly before demanding, “John, I need you in me. I need you to fuck me _now_.”

He wasted no time in pushing his pyjamas to his knees, and she guided the head of his cock to her vulva before wrapping her legs around his hips. He sank into her and bit back a groan as she accepted him easily, slick and hot and so deliciously alive beneath him. She tilted her hips, grinding against him, and he replied with a series of slow thrusts, pressing deeply into her. He caught her lips, and they exchanged distracted kisses amid breathless gasps as their bodies moved together, not quite perfectly, but it was definitely good enough. _Definitely_.

“Sherlock,” he breathed in her ear. “Are you close?” He felt a familiar tightness gathering in his groin and stilled, resisting the growing sense of desperation.

“Oh god,” she moaned, and it was almost a sob. “John, I'm so close, so close ...”

“Come for me,” he whispered, and lifted himself enough to allow her hand between their bodies, to provide the last little bit of stimulation she needed. “Come for me, Sherlock, please ...”

He could feel her orgasm course through her entire body, starting with her legs and moving swiftly upwards through her stuttering fingers and arched back to erupt from her throat in a ragged cry that might have been his name, but by then he was too lost in her to know. He buried his face in her shoulder and let go of control, allowing her body to pull his over the edge as well in a tangle of teeth and fingernails and sweat and wordless declarations of devotion. It lasted an absurdly long time, and when she finally began to relax, John was completely spent, and used the last of his strength to roll to the side rather than crushing her.

For a long while they simply lay there, regaining their breath and equilibrium in the darkness. Finally Sherlock shifted and got up, murmuring “got to clean up” as she went into the loo.

It took a little bit for John's brain to come back to him, and when it did, he was suddenly seized with panic. He turned the light on as Sherlock returned.

“I didn't use a condom,” he said.

“Yes, I know.” She found her underwear and stepped into them.

“How are you not freaking out?” John heard the hysteria creeping into his voice but was powerless to stop it. “They're right here! I can't believe how stupid we were! Why didn't you stop me?”

“It wasn't stupid. I have an IUD, you know that. You took care of me when I was incapacitated after getting the new one put in.”

“It's not just about contraception, Sherlock, it's about diseases, and your IUD places you at a higher risk. We haven't been tested.”

“Yes we have.” She slipped back into bed and pulled the blankets up with a yawn. “You got tested last week. The day after I let you kiss me, in fact. A bit presumptuous, but sensible. And I got my results yesterday, if you care to see them. We're both negative for all sexually transmitted infections, so there's nothing to worry about.”

He leaned back into the pillows and breathed deeply. She was right, of course. He had been tested, and everything had come out as expected. He also knew that she had used drugs in the past, and as much as he wanted to believe that she would never put herself in danger, he knew what addicts did. But she said she was clear. Did he trust her?

“Where did you go for your test?”

“Your surgery. Dr Sawyer took care of me.”

It was both a relief and a horrible embarrassment – Sarah had taken care of John's screening as well. “She didn't say anything.”

“Of course not. She may be dull and predictable, but she's true to her word.”

“You asked her to keep it secret?”

“I didn't have to. Privacy, you know. I'm sure she guessed, but she couldn't exactly say anything, could she?”

“No.” John felt himself finally relaxing again, so before he was too far gone he wiped himself off and changed into clean pyjamas, then got back into bed beside Sherlock. “So this is us now, is it?”

“Who else would we be?”

He chuckled as he reached to turn out the light. “I mean, this is where our relationship is, now. We're not just friends any more, assuming you found that to your liking.”

She snuggled up close to his side. “It was very much to my liking. I fancy I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I hate to sound like a cliché, but … was it as good for you as it was for me?”

“No way to know,” she said lazily. “Though you may rest assured that you are a skilled lover. That was the best sex of my life.”

“Which isn't exactly saying much.”

“You know I wasn't a virgin.”

“Practically.”

“But not actually. This experience has, however, shown me how limited my previous sample was. If he had been half as considerate as you, I might not have written off sex as being a waste of time.”

“Now you're just flattering me.”

He felt her smile against his shoulder, and her arm tightened across his middle. “I'm merely reporting the facts.”

“God,” he sighed. “You are amazing.”

“Mm. You're not so bad.”

They both giggled, and then with a shared deep breath, they allowed sleep to take them as they lay tangled together in the bed that was now definitely theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to brag, but ... I did "research" for this chapter ;)
> 
> When writing sex from a man's POV it's good to have an actual man make sure things are realistic, so rest assured that they are.
> 
> There is one more story coming in this series. I have it completely written, but I'm probably going to revise it heavily before I start posting.
> 
> I also have an idea for a fourth, but it's just in the concept stage.


End file.
